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IC NEWSLETTER -
SPRING 2009 5
Feature
There was a time that I didn’t speak so well. There were
so many words cramped in my head. In French, in Arabic,
in English. I never knew the right one to choose. And so I
preferred to stay silent. But I wanted to talk like everyone
else. They knew which word went where but I didn’t. So
I nodded and shook my head in response to questions. I
didn’t want anyone laughing at me if I chose the wrong
word.
And then I came to your class. You smiled at me and I loved
you at once. Somehow you knew that I needed time and I
needed my space.
At the beginning, I just wanted to go home. It was safer
there. The children in your class spoke so well. Why couldn’t
I talk like them?
My mother was worried and I heard you telling her softly.
“He’s not even four yet. He’s young for his class but he’ll
get there.”
My mother whispered to you that she fears that she
made a mistake and should have enrolled me later
in school when my speech was more developed.
But you didn’t agree. “He’s so mature,” you said. “He’ll
be just fine. Give him time.”
I heard you. And I felt good.
I never felt different in your class. And so slowly I
started to gain confidence and began using the words
floating in my head. You were thrilled when I began to
speak up. I could see it in your eyes. And so I kept using
words. The more words I used the more that popped into
my head. I wanted to use them all. You took everything
I said so seriously. Suddenly I had things to say. And you
listened.
And you understood me. You knew I was mortified that
day when my mother mixed up the date of the dress-up
day. I was the only Indian in the entire preschool. How
could I face the class? My mother whispered her mistake
to you. You promptly looked at me and said that I didn’t
have to go to class. I could go back home with my mother
and change my clothes. “He’ll be embarrassed,” you said to
my mother. “There’s no need for him to feel like that.”
And on that day when we brought gifts to the poor to
school, you noticed my hesitation when asked to hand you
the present. You see, I wanted to give it to the poor myself.
You smiled, and then and there you held out your hand to
me and together we walked down the hallway. You took
me to a room full of gift wrapped toys. And I understood
that I couldn’t give the present to the poor myself but that
this is where the gifts go. I understood and gave you my
gift.
But the best moment came when I did my task well in class
and you handed me a piece of small cardboard paper. I
couldn’t read it but I knew it was something nice because
there were big hearts drawn in the corners. And when I
handed it to my mother, I could see tears forming in her
eyes.
“Miss Jana is so proud of me” said the card.
And I’m proud too. I’m proud to have you as my teacher.
A
letter
from a
four-year-old